


Jonesin' for a Mustache Ride

by Turtles



Category: One Direction
Genre: Facial Hair, Facials, M/M, Mustaches, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:13:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtles/pseuds/Turtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry comes back from a break with a full mustache, Louis is furiously consumed with lust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jonesin' for a Mustache Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliferuined](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliferuined/gifts).



> Happy Birthday to my gal [Sadie](yetistyles.tumblr.com)! Influenced/began by [this](http://24.media.tumblr.com/e8269f3e074b6781589c67ee48607a1e/tumblr_msoidyu26A1saoswto1_500.jpg) edit of Harry with a mustache. This fic is AU in the way that Harry could never actually grow that, so we all have to suspend disbelief.

They’ve been on break for at most two weeks, and Louis doesn’t know how he does it but when he next sees Harry he has a complete, full-on, I’m-a-70s-porn-star, legitimate mustache.

Liam practically falls to the ground laughing, Niall actually does fall to the ground laughing, while Harry tries to control the contagious grin on his face, and Zayn sidles up to him joking, “Alreet, alreet, ‘Arreh, becoming a man?”

Louis sits fuming and consumed with lust.

Harry sits in front of Louis on the couch, and he presents his face forward. Eyelashes fluttered closed, and chin tilted forward and he says, “Stroke it.”

Louis breaks out in an uneasy grin, “You wish.”

“I do, feel it. It’s great. I’m great and my mustache is spectacular, stroke it.” Harry sits there, expectant, and Louis is drawn in like a magnet to Harry’s face. Hand outreached and fingers grasping forward until he feels the smooth mustache and glides down until he can feel the bristly end of it.

He strokes back and forth, feels the way the hairs scratch at his fingers at the end and wonders how they would feel on his thighs, on his arse.

He feels Harry exhale and realizes he’s been staring unabashedly at his mouth while stroking his fingers over his top lip for the better half of a minute, and he feels his face go that embarrassing warm vulnerable red.

Turning into the couch cushion he yells, “Your mustache is great, now please go away.”

He can practically feel the shrewd looks everyone is giving him and regrets every second of being honest with his band and becoming an easy read to them.

-

It’s not like he’s never thought about fucking Harry. He has, but they met when they were just babies on the X-Factor, and Harry reminded him more of the big eyed lemur from Madagascar rather than someone whose dick he would want in him.

The mustache, though. The mustache calls to him. It reminds him that those infrequent fantasies of getting Harry between the sheets have become more frequent. It reminds him that Harry’s gone from boy to man right before his eyes.

His shoulders have broadened, and his stomach has flattened. The angle of his jaw sharp enough to cut, if he wanted to put his tongue on it. It makes Louis want to take him to bed and make him sweat, until Louis can bury his nose in Harry’s scent and get fucked raw. 

It feels like Harry is almost taunting him. Daring him to break. 

Or at least that’s what Louis has assumed from the way he’s taken to grooming his mustache in front of Louis.

“Do you really have to comb that thing here?” Louis grumbles, trying to eat breakfast but distracted by the tiny comb Harry is passing through his mustache.

“Dunno where else I would comb it,” Harry shrugs. “Does it bother you?”

“Of course it does, here I am. Trying to eat breakfast like a civilized Englishman. And I have to look at your ugly mug raking your face.” Louis says, but he’s afraid it comes out more as. “Of course it does, I want to ride your face.”

Harry simply wiggles his mustache in a dismissive fashion so Louis assumes he hasn’t picked up on his hidden messages. 

-

He’s cuddling with Harry in bed one morning, because fucking or not Harry is wonderfully warm and solid and he’s not going to stop being friends with the lad because his prick has become interested in the proceedings. 

His fingers are going through the mustache in a repetitive soothing motion, sometimes ending up in Harry’s nostrils because messing with Harry’s zen is always fun.

“I’m thinking of getting a full beard,” Harry says, casually, as if he’s not even trying to ruin Louis’ entire sexual drive for anyone else. “Big, bushy one. To you know. Match.”

Harry’s waggling his eyebrows and Louis is rolling off of Harry to cover his own face with a pillow and scream. “Louis? A beard wouldn’t be that bad, you diva.”

Louis takes the pillow off himself and proceeds to put it over Harry’s face, “You can’t grow a beard and torture me if you’re dead.”

But Harry’s hands come up to tickle Louis and in between giggling and kicking Harry away he almost forgets about the entire beard thing. 

Almost.

-

Louis admits it’s not his best plan. Probably not even his second or third best plan. But it seems like a good enough idea until Harry flicks on the light with a croaky ‘Louis?’ and Louis is standing above his bed with a razor in hand.

“It’s not what it looks like,” is the first thing out of Louis’ mouth. Which is shite, because it is usually always what it looks like.

The worst thing is probably how hot Harry looks right now, bleary eyed and naked. Tattoos standing out in the dim glow of the lamp. And of course the mustache. Dark and masculine against his face. Louis is a monster.

“Is that shaving cream? I know you hate the mustache, but this is a bit much, boo.”

“I don’t hate the mustache!” Louis shrieks, “I want to kiss the mustache off your awful face every day!”

Harry’s fingers have come to pet at the mustache and there’s red high on the apples of his cheeks, and Louis doesn’t know when he got this far in but he knows there’s a faint fluttering in his stomach that says if Harry doesn’t reciprocate some type of feeling he might actually shave off the mustache anyway.

As a sick sad revenge. If he can’t have the mustache, no one can. The stache is his.

Harry sits up in bed and carefully he grabs Louis’ wrists in his big hands, and it’s sick how much Louis wants to know what Harry’s fingerprints would look like on his skin. Slowly he puts down the razor and the cream, and then with a tug Louis isn’t expecting he’s pulled onto Harry’s lap.

Harry is making a ridiculous puckered face and his mustache is right there, and Louis is just sitting. In his lap, wondering if he’s being ridiculed. Until Harry cracks an eye, and pouts. 

He pecks Louis on the mouth once, and Louis makes this undignified noise that he wouldn’t classify as a squeal. “I don’t think the mustache is coming off, but you can try.”

He puckers up again, and Louis doesn’t want to resist him. Brings his mouth to Harry’s and kisses him until his lips smooth out like a normal human being and is kissing him back. 

It’s so strange is the thing. He’s never kissed someone with a full mustache and the harsh bristles of the end of his mustache are a weird contrast to the lush of Harry’s mouth.

Harry licks at him unerringly until both their mouths are smooth against each other, and he can feel the way Harry’s hands have dropped inside his sweatpants. Harry’s skin is soft against him, still a little sleep warm from the way Harry becomes a furnace as he sleeps. 

Louis tugs his shirt off and Harry tugs at his pants until Louis is naked as well, they roll properly on the bed, narrowly avoiding kneeing each other in the bollocks and Harry hauls Louis forward by his ass until they’re pressed up against each other. Harry keeps pulling though and Louis breaks away with a confused noise.

“Do you want my mouth, Louis?” Harry says, biting against a shoulder blade and pressing a wet kiss to the same spot. 

Louis nods frantically and lets Harry pull him forward. Awkwardly kneeing up the plush hotel sheets until his dick is bobbing centimeters from Harry’s mouth. 

Harry presses a kiss to Louis’ thigh, the mustache tickling his thighs, and he keeps going. Wet, biting kisses. Rubbing his mouth across the skin until Louis’ thighs are a little raw from mustache burn. 

Louis is whimpering at this point, cupping his dick and feeling the wet head against his palm. “Please, H, just- need your mouth.”

Leaning forward Harry presses a wet kiss to the crown of Louis’ dick, making the pink head blurt against his lips. A little of his precome ends up on the mustache and Louis moans and has to look up at the ceiling. Can’t even look at Harry for fear of losing it all over his face.

Harry moves down, licking at Louis’ balls and letting his mustache tickle the base of Louis’ cock. And in a move Louis was somehow not expecting, keeps moving down until his mustache is pressed tight to his taint and he’s working on screwing his tongue inside Louis.

“Oh fuck,” Louis cries out, bringing a knuckle to his mouth to bite against. Letting his other hand wander up his chest as Harry seals his lips in a tight kiss to Louis’ asshole, fluttering his tongue and licking Louis’ out.

He starts making these aborted writhing motions with his hips, pressing further against Harry’s face. Riding it until he’s loose and has to get a hand around himself, because he has to come.

Harry must feel it somehow, because he pulls back and strokes Louis’ cock aiming at his face and pleading, “On me.” 

There has never been so much come on someone he’s loved before. And it’s all on his mustache and mouth, his jaw.

When the bed keeps shaking he realizes that Harry is still hard, whining and fucking up into his fist. “Oh shit, Harry. Harry, you’re so fucking hot.”

Harry nods cheeks flushed and smile coming out, a bit of Louis’ come dips in his dimple.

Louis shimmies down the bed until he’s just a lump in the covers and Harry slows his pulls until Louis can fit his mouth over the head of Harry’s cock without getting punched in the face. And he goes down. And down, until Harry is saying, “Holy fucking shit,” and coming in his mouth with a thrust that ends up pushing Louis’ face into the patch of hair below Harry’s navel.

-

Louis is sitting on the bathroom counter watching Harry comb out the come from his mustache with a bit of water, “No one likes a crusty mustache and this is your come, so you have to keep me company,” like it was some type of hassle to watch Harry focus intently on his facial hair naked.

“So, you’re keeping the mustache right?” Louis says, carefully nonchalant.

“Never planned to get rid of it. ‘Til someone snuck into my room in the middle of the night with a blade,” Harry says, glancing at Louis meaningfully, but the message is truly lost because he keeps missing a spot of come.

Louis hops off the counter and takes the comb out of his hands, making sure to grab all the flecks with his strokes, “The past is the past, love. I’ve come in it now, this is practically half my mustache. That’s how ownership works, right? You come on it and it’s yours?”

“Hmmm,” Harry demures pulling Louis close with a hand on his bum, “Maybe I should’ve come on your arse then.”

Punching Harry on the arm he says fondly, “Tit.”

“But, you’d still like me if I didn’t have my mustache, right Lou?” Harry asks, and his look is so earnest Louis just has to crush it.

“No.”

Harry pouts at him, and Louis laughs, but when they kiss, the answer sounds like, “Always.”


End file.
